"Nay, Lad, where all your mates are met
Go you the selfsame way,
Another dance I would forget
Wherein I too was gay."
But here you sit long day by day
With those whose joys are done;
What mates these townfolk old and grey
For you dear Silent one.
"Nay, Lad, they're done with joys and fears.
Rare comrades should we prove,